The Raven
by windandwater93
Summary: Blind & the daughter of a German mob boss, Mina is under the guise of the Raven, a killer of vagrants in the Boston area ever since the Saints were detained. Little does she know her father's role in their arrest & that the Saints are back. For revenge.
1. Chapter 1

Before reading, note the *s before some of the phrases. After reading this, at the bottom are the translations for each one and what language they are from.

CHAPTER 1

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door - Only this, and nothing more."

-Edgar Allen Poe; "The Raven"

Being blind was something I was born with. Most of the time I hear it called a disability, other times, I hear it called a curse. But I don't see it that way. That's kind of ironic you know? Seeing.

The curse I have, though, is something not so.

I am the daughter of a mob boss. Yeah, I know, shocking isn't it?

Still, being the only child of German mobster René Kaiser has its perks; nobody puts shit past you and nobody-nobody-gets past the Boys without getting their ass kicked in the process.

You have a position to uphold as a gangster, and, being his kid, you have to know the ropes of life. Like being on your best behavior, or whatever. Daddy thinks that just because I'm "handicapped" I don't get in to trouble and all that bull. But, whenever I do go out and everyone sees me, I hear the gasps, and I move them all aside with my cane, like God did the fucking Red Sea.

Then again, when your Kaiser's daughter, it's easy for people on the streets to get that prickle in the back of their neck, or that slight urge in the pit of their gut, to just take hold of you, throw you up against a damn brick wall and beat the shit out of you. You couldn't go anywhere if you were mob blood without something like that happening.

Because, honestly, let's face it. When Daddy kills the children, the wives, and the husbands of practically every family picked up from Boston's slums, well, you can imagine all the hell boiling over; all the revenge that wants to be gained.

Which was why, exactly, I was going through the situation I was.

I was on the corner of Berkley and Dawson Avenue, with two guys and one girl surrounding me. The girl was probably around five something, based on the sound of her voice, and she was farther away than the guys were.

Both men were approximately six foot and were about three feet away from me. Being that close, I knew what they wanted. Hell, it had happened to me only a week ago.

I gripped my cane tightly as I heard one of them take a step.

"Won't you looky here, George. Seems the little princess got lost on her way back home."

You would think that being the bad-asses they try to be, they would pick up some new material. *"Lassen Sie, bevor ich dich zurück zu schicken eure Mütter zurück an die Hure Haus." I said, a smile broadening on my face. *"Immerhin haben Sie zwei nicht, gelegt worden, was, sieben Monate jetzt?"

I wish I could've seen what they looked like. They probably had that expression of a donkey's ass, but, then again, I couldn't count on my hypotheses anymore. What can I say, my luck in this world sucks.

I felt one of them grab my neck and bring me up to his level. Judging by the distance my feet were from the ground, and by the fact my cane was just barely scraping the dirt, the guy was about six-two. "What the fuck did you just say to me square head?"

Racial slurs. Typical. "I said, why don't you go run back to your *Mère back at the whore house? After all, I'm sure you two gentlemen haven't been laid in, oh, I don't know, seven months?"

"Dude, don't, she's not even worth it."

I focused in on this one, and noticed his accent. Dutch. The other guy, the one that was about to do whatever it was he was planning on doing, was French.

"I'm going to mess this bitch up." he said. "Her and her daddy both."

My smile grew bigger and I blew a strand of my hair from my face. *"Pensez-vous sérieusement va tabasser un jeune aveugle?"

"You're damn right I am."

Oh. So he was French. "Look, Blackfoot, why don' t you just listen to your buddy? Beating the shit out of me isn't worth it."

"Kill her, James!" The girl suddenly yelled from her position somewhere down the alley. "Kill her! Slit her fucking throat!"

She was French too. "Is that your girlfriend, James?" I asked. "Or is she your sister?"

"I'm not telling you-"

I pulled my little something out of the pocket in my jacket and aimed it at what I assumed was his face. "Answer the question, you piece of shit. Or your brains are going everywhere; all over this fucking alley."

I could hear the smile on his face when he responded. "You think I'm scared of you, you little Nazi? You won't do shit."

I cocked back the safety. "Try me."

James started laughing. "Tell me something, Nazi, you think that fucking fat-ass of a father would mind if I took his little girl's virginity? Not like anyone's beating down your doors to do that shit, though, huh?"

I dropped my cane to the ground, listening to the thud it made.

I then clicked my tongue, that same little click dolphins make; I was listening to the sounds as they ricocheted off the walls, off of the people.

The Dutch guy was standing over in a corner, next to a trash can. The girl was falling back, about to go into the street. She must be the only one who knew who the hell I actually was.

As James kept on laughing, I clicked one last time, and, as I did, I fired a shot into the Frenchman's head.

"Holy fuck!" his friend screamed. "Holy fuck!"

I clicked again as I collided with the earth underneath me and grabbed my cane. I aimed my gun and the location of the other man. "One last chance, Georgy. Get the hell out of here, or I'm blowing you away, too."

"Holy fuck." he said again. Only this time, as I heard him grow farther and farther away from me, I heard him say something else. "You're *de raaf."

I pulled myself to my feet, my seeing stick in hand. I put my gun away, feeling its warmth against my side. "Just go, man. Get the fuck out of here."

And, he was gone; vanished into the filthy streets along with the French girl.

I poked at the body in front of me and knelt down. I moved my free hand up his chest, feeling around for his face.

When the tips of my fingers grazed the bridge of his oily nose, I went to the left, and then to the right, closing each eye as I did so.

I then pulled my rosary out from underneath my shirt and kissed it. *"Vater unser, der du bist im Himmel geheiligt werde Dein Name, Dein Reich komme, Dein Wille geschehe auf Erden wie im Himmel ist. Gib uns heute unser tägliches Brot und vergib uns unsere Schuld, wie auch wir vergeben unsern Schuldigern, und führe uns nicht in Versuchung, sondern erlöse uns von dem Bösen. Amen." I fingered the beads through this prayer and kissed the cross one last time.

I then stood up and walked back into the open. I hailed a taxi, climbed in, and headed home.

By the time I got there, though, Daddy had company.

I went straight in, and the hustle and bustle immediately died.

I heard a chair scoot back against the floor and a pair of familiar footsteps coming my way. "Are you alright, Mina?"

I probably had blood on my face.

I felt my father's thumb come to my cheek and smear something.

"It was nothing, *Vater." I whispered.

"Your cane is dirty. And your clothes…"

"I'm fine. Really." I placed a hand on his shoulder and kissed his stubbly face. "I'm going to bed. Don't let me keep you from your business."

Business. Like what he did for a living was really a business.

I made my way past him and up the familiar stairs. I had to go through the dining area and up another flight of stairs until I got to the corridor leading to my bedroom.

Why my father never questioned where I went to at night, or why he was so naïve to think that his little girl never got in to anything, was beyond me. He killed people for a living, my father did. He killed people who owed him money, who second-guessed him, or really, people who just pissed him off.

Me, I had my reasons.

I sat down my cane on the table near the only window in my room and flopped down on my bed.

Growing up blind for twenty-two years was something I was still getting used to, although having teachers that Daddy hired to help me wasn't so bad either.

It was the last one that taught me the art of echolocation, before he argued with my father about how he was having me raised and that being surrounded by violence was not good for me. Two weeks after my sixteenth birthday, I heard shots as I was getting ready for bed. Holden Pierce never came back after that.

I sat up and shifted under the covers, while slipping off my jacket. I tossed it to the floor and heard the weight of the gun fall heavily onto the carpet. Not a smart thing to do, I know, but who gave a shit? Not me.

I pulled the quilts over my head and buried my face underneath the pillows, taking in the smell of lavender and smoke. Carlotta was smoking again.

I closed my eyes.

Sometimes, it was nice to pretend that the world I was living in wasn't dark and, that what I was really living was just a dream. In the end, I would wake up and, before me, would be a place of extraordinary color and light. Still, it was also nice to tell myself that I was full of shit and to stop being a pansy. After all, I was just another person.

The Raven, though? She was a whole different story.

She appeared at a French bar, three years ago, with nothing but two Smith & Wesson 9mm semi-automatics loaded and ready to go in both pockets. Lucky for her, there were a few people in there, maybe around twelve.

All it took was for one guy to bring out his knife and attack her, for her to bring out the guns. One minute later, every single person in the bar was dead and the only thing going was the jukebox machine playing Presley's Hound Dog.

The Raven had, at first, been shocked that she had actually killed all of them. Good little girl that she, that didn't give her any reason to stick around.

She instead got the hell out of Dodge.

The next day, reporters had dubbed her as the Raven, since she had been wearing black and she never said anything.

Luckily, they hadn't gotten her face.

So, the name just stuck. The light blonde haired girl suddenly became a threat and anyone walking the streets talked about her and who she might grab next.

She was the reason that assholes like the James guy was off the streets. She was the reason the twenty out of the fifty-five were no longer around to call themselves rapists or drug dealers.

I pressed my face into the mattress.

She was the reason I lived.

TRANSLATIONS

*Leave, before I send you back to your mothers back at the whore house- German

**After all, you two haven't been laid for, what, seven months now?-German

***Mother-French

****Are you seriously going to beat up a blind girl?- French

*****The Raven-Dutch

******The Lord's Prayer-German

*******Father-German


	2. Chapter 2

There were times when Murphy just really wanted to roll over and die.

There were also times when he just wanted to take out his gun and shoot himself in the face.

Right now was one of those times.

He ran a hand over his bloodshot eyes and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He watched, outside, as the endless blocks of the slums passed by.

His head was pounding loudly.

God, having a rum shot drinking contest was the worst idea Rom had thought of. Then again, it wasn't as bad as some of his brother's. Still…

Connor swerved madly to the left, nearly swiping a stop-sign in the process.

"For God's sake!" He yelled. "You would think they would give us fucking directions on how to get there!"

Murphy just groaned and closed his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Connor. Do you have to fucking yell?"

"Yes!" He then jerked the steering wheel, causing them to almost run into a beat up Mustang that was cruising at the speed-limit. Unlike their own piece of junk that was almost doubling it.

The driver honked at them and flashed them the middle finger.

Connor returned it while screaming a flood of curses.

Murphy on the other hand massaged his temples. His head was pounding louder, now. Jesus, how he hated hangovers. Every little sound was magnified by a thousand and the light made everything much more harsher than it was supposed to be.

"God! Where the fuck is it?"

Murphy lifted his head and turned to his brother, whose face seemed to be almost up against the glass of the grimy windshield. "I thought you said you didn't need directions?"

"Shut the fuck up and go back to sleep."

"That's going to be kind of hard to do, considering you keep on swerving this piece of shit everywhere and you fucking drive like Speedy fucking Gonzales."

"Shut your hole."

Murphy rolled his eyes. "You turn at the next right. On Waverly Avenue."

And, it was at that moment, that Connor rounded a minivan and cut the angry mother who was inside off as he sped down Waverly.

"Happy now?" Murphy muttered, putting his face back on the window. He closed his eyes again, waiting for a response from Connor. When none came, he was actually kind of relieved. That was what he needed. Silence. Absolute silence.

He remembered, back when his life was anything but. Back when Da was still alive.

He gritted his teeth together.

Da.

"_Look, boys. It's so beautiful. It's a beautiful day…"_

It is, Da, he thought. It is.

He could still see him, lying there, amongst all the shattered glass and rubble from before, taking his last breath. His last dying breath.

Murphy leaned back into the worn leather seat and gathered his arms around himself.

Fuck this. Fuck everything.

He almost wanted to jump out of the car and into the street.

If he lived through the fall, he would stand up and scream at the next passing car. Hit me, he would say. Fucking hit me.

Shit. It wouldn't surprise him if Connor wanted to do the same fucking thing.

"So? What's up?"

Murphy remained like he was. "What?"

"You want to tell me why you've been such a Debbie Downer lately?"

"God, Connor, do we really have to talk about this now?" Murphy sighed heavily onto the glass. The last thing he needed was his brother investigating his private well-being. God. Screw that. He didn't need a fucking therapist. And, last time he checked, his brother didn't even come close. Seriously. When was the last time he wanted to do all this touchy-feely crap?

"You're damn right we do. You're my fucking brother, Murph." He readjusted himself in the seat. "So out with it. What's your problem?"

Murphy was quiet for a moment before he opened up his eyes and sat up. "You really want to know what my fucking problem is, brother?"

"Yes."

"I have an fucking migraine, because our little Mexican friend wanted to take fucking rum shots to celebrate, and the person sitting next to me won't fucking shut the hole in his face!"

Connor just looked him. "Is that it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's fucking it." Murphy threw himself back down and brought up his legs into the seat. God, he felt like such a child.

Ever since Da had died and they got busted out of prison a few months later with the help of Smecker and his protégé, Bloom, Connor had been nothing but a nuisance. An overprotecting, pain in his ass, nuisance.

Murphy knew he should be acting the same way, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Losing Da had hit him hard. And getting the shit beaten out of him by some of those prison rough-housers had damaged whatever pride he had left in him.

He felt like a mess. He felt like taking his guns, aiming them at the next person he seen, and pulling the triggers.

At the moment, Smecker and Bloom were actually allowing them to go out in public for one specific reason while they did a little research on a topic that they seemed to think they shouldn't reveal to Connor and himself until they had enough.

All in all, whatever in the hell that topic was, Murphy didn't give a shit. He was just glad to be out of that place.

It wasn't as good as Doc's, but it was a whole helluva lot better than what they had lived in before. It was just a one room apartment, with peeling wallpaper, one bathroom, and yellowed carpet that had once been white. The only bedding they had was two creaky mattresses with a few pillows and blankets. Since Bloom was a woman and all, soap and shampoo was a must, so at least they had that much.

He suddenly heard the sound of gravel underneath and he lifted his eyelids. He took in the sight of a clean-cut cemetery, with gleaming headstones of every shape and size. Beside it stood one of the newly built Anglo-Saxon Christian churches, a small playground for children in the back.

Why the hell anyone would want their children to run around playing next to an fucking cemetery was beyond him.

Connor cut the engine and the both of them stepped out.

They walked past every grave, not even bothering to look at the names. They knew the exact spot. All they had to do was go to it.

They slowed, then, as they came upon it. It was a little ways in the back, but, still, what was new? And the headstone…the headstone was such a puny thing: A block of stone with rough cut edges that was sticking up out of the grass.

Noah MacManus, it said. Il Duce.

Pieces of paper clung to little stakes that had been stabbed into the ground, some were taped to the granite and, written in crayon, were misspelled words of praise and thanks. Some said that the man, buried six feet under the earth, would be greatly missed.

How the fuck would they know, Murphy thought. They didn't even fucking know him. He had just been a name in a newspaper; on the local news stations.

"Hey, Da." Connor whispered. "How's it going?"

A gust of wind from the hot June weather blew through the willow tree that stood above them and its lithe limbs grazed along the top of the headstone. It must've been a good enough coincidence for Connor, because he just smiled and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat.

"It's nice seeing you, Da. You look fucking great."

Murphy just wanted to turn around and leave. He could see Da looking at them, now, shaking his head. God boys, he would say. Don't mourn me like this. Let your old man rest in peace and kill those bastards…

He heard a shriek of laughter from the playground and he turned his head while Connor just kept on staring at Da's grave.

A group of about ten kids, who couldn't have been more than five or six, came running out the back of the church, with big smiles on their faces. They were all dressed the same: white shirts, shiny black shoes. The girls had on pleated black skirts and knee-high white socks, while the boys had on pressed black pants.

A woman followed behind them with an elder one next to her. The old one touched the woman's arm. She didn't even turn and look at her. Instead, she just smiled and touched the rim of her dark sunglasses.

The old lady then turned and walked back inside.

Murphy watched as the woman, who couldn't have been but in her early twenties, walked down the stairs and over to the swing set.

She was wearing a blue and green striped tank top and faded denim shorts; Her light blonde hair was kept up in a ponytail and white flip-flops were on her feet.

She sat down in one of the swings and started pumping her slender legs in the air, pushing herself higher and higher with each kick. A delicate smile formed on her lips. The silver bangles on her arms moved back and forth on her arm as she swung.

Murphy couldn't help but stare at her. She looked familiar. Where in the hell had he seen her before? She looked like one of those fucking rich kids that walked into slums just for kicks.

He didn't know how long he looked, but, all he knew was that, when he did turn away and back to his brother, Connor was walking away from the grave and towards the car.

When the two of them were back on the road and heading back to the apartment, it was quiet. Too fucking quiet.

God, how Murphy hated it.

He was often the one that broke the silence, shattering it into a million pieces.

But this was a kind of silence that couldn't be broken. It was stuck to them, it was something they couldn't get rid of no matter how hard they tried. Still, he could take a shot at it.

"Nice weather, huh?" He whispered.

Connor nodded his head. "Yeah. It is."

Murphy nodded as well and the silence came back. He leaned up against the door and ran a hand over his head. The pounding had stopped now, but it was still there, somewhere.

They pulled up to the small garage outside of the apartment building and they walked up the four flights of stairs and waltzed into the room.

They found Smecker sitting at a folded table, a half-eaten bagel in his hand, smeared heavily with cream cheese, pouring over the papers and files that were scattered in front of him.

"Where's Eunice?" Connor asked, taking off his coat and tossing it on the drooping hanger next to the door.

"Shower." Smecker muttered, not even bothering to look up. "Said she couldn't think straight without washing her hair. Whatever in the hell that means."

Connor and Murphy looked at each other, but didn't say anything. Instead, Connor walked over to one of the beds and flung himself on it, the springs squeaking from the weight, while Murphy just took off his own coat and hung it next to his brother's. "What are you looking at?" he asked.

"Just a bunch of crap Eunice was able to grab from the FBI's main records."

"Ah." Murphy went over to the window and looked out through the cracked pane. "So, do you guys got anything yet?"

"Wait till Betty Boop gets done and I'll let you know." Smecker took another bite of his bagel and sat it down on the paper plate next to his elbow.

Murphy stood there, looking out at Boston, until he heard a click of a lighter. He turned his head and watched as Connor took a long drag on the start of what had been a new pack of cigarettes. He exhaled, releasing a plume of smoke that clouded the air around him.

Murphy felt like doing the same thing, just unwinding and all that other shit. But he couldn't. He just...couldn't. That girl was there, in his mind. All he could see was her swinging, that fantastic body of hers…

God, what the hell? Why the fuck was he even thinking about that kind of crap?

He suddenly heard the sound of the bathroom door being opened, and all men took witness to the Miss Eunice Bloom, who walked out in a fitting black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. With her new hair, she looked exactly how Smecker described her. A hard-ass, take-no-shit, Betty Boop.

"Why, good afternoon boys." She said all dandy like. "How was your day?"

"Fine." The two of them answered in unison.

"Good." She walked over to Smecker and placed a well manicured hand on his shoulder. "Now, Paul, should I tell them the good news, or do you want to?"

Murphy watched as his brother smirked a little. Murphy didn't realize that he was too. They both knew how Smecker hated being called by his first name all the time. He said it made him feel old.

Which was why him cringing by the sound of Paul was just a mood-booster for them. "I don't know, Eunice, why don't you? After all, I've been the one slaving over a hot stove all morning."

"Sure you have." Eunice went to the other side of the table. "So, boys, do you want to hear the news?"

"Lay it on us." Connor said, exhaling another cloud of smoke.

"Well," Bloom grabbed a thin manila folder from the stack and waved it at him. "As I'm sure you know, there are mobs out there that are not just Italians and Russians and all of that other shit, right?"

"Yeah. So?" Murphy said, raising an eyebrow.

"So, that's why I'm so excited to let you two know that the only reason you didn't get away with your fight against the Old Man was not just because of the FBI, or the Italians. No. Instead, most of it was because of this guy." She ripped out a picture with a flourish and held it up. It shown a black and white portrayal of a tall, well-built man, who seemed to be about in his early fifties. He had short blonde hair, and an expressionless face.

"Who the hell is he?" Connor asked.

"René Kaiser, the leader of the German mob. The very same one that has killed over three hundred or more men and women and, also, the very same one that was responsible for giving the FBI all the information on you boys after sending it off to the Italians for a little green to put in his pockets. He's also the reason you were kidnapped in your early days by the late Don "Papa" Joe Yakavetta and were almost killed."

Murphy looked over at his brother. He knew that they were thinking the same thing: Rocco.

Bloom went on. "He was also the same one that devised a plan to set up one of Yakavetta's errand boys and lure you two in with him. Trust me, if you want to kill somebody, kill this guy. After all, not only did he want the Yakavetta family out of the way, but he wanted every big mob organization terminated so he could come out on top and-"

"We'll take care of it." Connor said abruptly, flicking his cigarette ash onto the floor.

"Because if he's the reason we've had to deal with this shit, and if he's the same fucker that got us put in prison-"

"Then he dies. Tonight." Connor finished.

"Surprised you two could even function, what with your hangovers and what not." Smecker said, picking up his bagel once again and taking a large bite. "Thought you wouldn't make it out the door."

"Speaking of hangovers, where's Rom?" Murphy asked.

"Out. Needed to pick up a few things." Bloom said. "Whatever that means."

Murphy nodded and crashed onto the other mattress.

To think, that there was a man out there that was the sole source of everything that happened to them. He was the reason Rocco was dead. He was the reason their Da was dead. He was the reason everything was like it was, now.

Murphy leaned forward and put his head in his hands. The plan, whatever in the fuck it was, was up to Connor. He looked up. His brother seemed to be in that same state of mind, the same one that symbolized that he was either drunk off his ass or thinking.

He knew that the plan was going to be a major screw-up, yeah, but it was worth a shot. Only if it ended with that German asshole dead.

"Oh, and one more thing."

The two of them turned to Eunice as she tossed down the file.

"He has a kid."

"How old is he?" Connor asked, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray next to him.

Eunice laughed at this, as did Smecker, who just finished off his pastry. "It's a she. And she's twenty-two years old."

Something then hit Murphy and he stood up. "Do you have a picture of her?"

Bloom didn't say anything. Instead, she went back to the file, took out another picture and put it right in his face.

"Fuck." He whispered.

It was the same girl from the playground.


	3. Chapter 3

_He could smell the sweet sweat from her skin, feel the softness of her hands against his chest, feel her tongue as it licked his lips. He could taste her mouth; the flavor of wine mixed with his own. She pushed up against him, grabbing at his hips with her small hands. "I want you," she whispered. "I want you. Here. Now."_

_He moved to her neck, already laced with red marks from his teeth. How many times he kissed her there, making her moan in ecstasy, he didn't know. _

_All he did know, was that when he moved into her, she grasped handfuls of the damp sheets underneath them and cried out with a kind of passion he'd never heard come from a woman. _

"_More," she said. "More."_

_He shook his head and ran his fingertips over her swollen lips, the perspiration on his brows trickling down into his eyes. "I'm sorry."_

"_For what?" She sat up, shifting her weight to her elbows. "We've done nothing wrong, Murphy."_

_He cradled her face in his hands. "I'm sorry for what's about to happen to you."_

_A smile crept on her mouth and she leaned up further, till she was only a few centimeters from his face. She moved to his ear and tugged at his earlobe with her pearly white teeth. "I don't care what happens." She pulled away and took off the sunglasses, throwing them across the room. "I've already beaten you."_

_From out of nowhere, a gun materialized in her hands and she pressed it against his forehead. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"_

_He took in a heavy breath and closed his eyes, just as she decided to pull the trigger._

Murphy jumped awake, the thin covers flailing off of him and onto the floor. What the shit? What the fucking shit? He ran a hand over his face, blinking his eyes a few times. He shakily pulled the hand away, expecting there to be blood on it. When there wasn't, he fell back onto the bed and closed his eyes.

Christ, what was wrong with him?

He sat back up and threw his legs over the edge of the mattress. He leaned forward, clasping his hands behind his head. _It's a beautiful day isn't it_?

Murphy could still feel her teeth on his ear; he could still taste her mouth. It had all felt so real...

Oh, what the shit was he thinking?

He quickly sat up, catching sight of Connor coming out of the bathroom, fully dressed. He watched as his brother grabbed a duffel bag from in front of the mattress next to the wall and slung it over his shoulder.

"Where the hell are you going?" He muttered, popping the kink that was in his neck.

"Nowhere. I was waiting for you, actually, to get your lazy ass up so we can get this shit done and over with."

Murphy climbed up from the mattress and grabbed at what he supposed was a pair of his jeans, crumpled up in between the matresses. "What the fuck…God, Connor what time is it?"

"Twelve twenty-five." He said it like it was nothing to him. God, it probably wasn't.

"Fuck." Murphy buttoned the snap of the jeans. "What makes you think he's going to be there, anyways?"

"It's the only place he can go without getting his head blown off." Connor replied. He readjusted the strap of the bag as he watched his brother slip on a faded gray t-shirt over the cross.

"Right." Murphy looked around at the empty room, which he noticed was sparse of feminine products and fresh baked bagels. Even the scent of cold coffee was sorely lacking. "Where the hell's Smecker?"

"He took off. So did Bloom."

"Where the fuck to?"

Connor just shrugged and rubbed at his eyes. "Hell if I know. Said they won't be back, though."

"What about Rom?"

"He's going to meet us there."

"At Kaiser's?"

"You sound so fucking surprised by that, my dear brother."

Murphy rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything further. It was too early in the morning to talk about all this shit with Connor. He grabbed his coat and put it on. "This plan going to fall apart like all the other ones?"

"Shut the fuck up," was his brother's reply. "I actually thought this one through, believe it or not."

"It's not going to require your stupid fucking rope is it?" They were already tromping down the stairs to the garage. God, at twelve something in the morning, too. Murphy ran a hand over his face.

Connor didn't say anything.

Instead, he tossed open the backseat of the car and tossed in the bag. He then climbed into the front seat and, suddenly, before Murphy could even have the chance to get in, the engine sputtered to life.

He got into the passenger seat and, suddenly, they were off, like a bat out of Hell.

Never in his life had he seen Connor so determined. If that was even the right word for it. There were times, yeah, when the justice of what he did burned in his eyes, but this, this just took the fucking cake. Never before had he been so in a hurry to take a man's life. Sure, Murphy had that itch in his fingers, a sign that he was ready to do whatever in the hell needed to be done, but God…This just scared the shit out of him. And nothing did that. Except…

Murphy sighed and leaned back in the seat. That smile, the gun fire, the slick sweat of her body mixing with his…

Jesus Christ.

He wouldn't be lying if the thought of that gave him a hard-on. Well, the body part did, but the gun and everything else was just weird and, for some reason, wonderful all the same. He looked over at Connor and had a sudden thought to tell his brother about it; maybe ask him what it probably meant and all that shit.

But Murphy just shook his head. Forget it. He'd probably just tell him he needed to get laid.

Yeah, he thought. By Kaiser's daughter, obviously.

The question was, though, what were they going to do about her, the daughter? Were they simply just going to leave her there, crying over her father's dead body? Or, were they going to kill her too?

It wouldn't surprise him if his brother went with the one that required his gun. When it came to Connor's anger, nothing could get in his way. Not even Murphy.

Mina's POV

_You need to stop this, Mina. The more you go looking for trouble, the sooner it will come to you when you least expect it._

Sister Catherine's words echoed in my brain, bouncing around in there like this annoying conscience that wouldn't go away. Damn old woman.

I pushed past the shower curtain and dipped my foot into the water of the tub that Carlotta had fixed only five minutes ago. It was still scalding hot, making my skin feel more cold than burning. Still, though, it didn't matter. Below me, my father was having a meeting in the dining area with his soldiers and the second-in-command at freaking twelve in the morning. Which didn't surprise me, to be honest. Meetings like this were always happening, despite the time. Not being able to hear what they were saying made things all the more easier. Not being able to hear who shot who in the back of the head, or who burned this family in their own house; it was a blessing.

But, honestly, I knew this convention was going to be different from the others. For one thing, Daddy got a call yesterday afternoon, and, from what I gathered before heading over to the church, the topic of which he and the caller were discussing was crucial. Secondly, my father never invited Andrew, his SIC, to meetings unless it was vital. And good riddance. Andrew was a *pervertieren_. _Whenever my father wasn't in ear shot, he would always discuss to whoever was with him about how much he'd like to bang me. And the guy was almost forty-five and, from what I managed to gather, he was close to fifty pounds overweight with a thick, curly beard that made him look like fucking Jesus Christ.

I ducked my head into the water, submerging myself under the surface until my ears had disappeared. I could hear the echoes from below and the words of cursing and low tones. I managed to make out a bit:

"Wouldn't be surprised…kill us."

Then my father's voice. "Don't worry Vince. They're…will take care of it."

"They're going to fucking…"

"I said don't worry about it. I don't want Mina hearing…"

It must be important then.

I shut my eyes and focused on my heartbeat, instead. Ben, the first teacher to instruct me on the ways of my blindness, said that instead of feeling like my blindness was something that made me handicapped, that it was something that made me who I was. Sounded fucking cheesy, I know, but he had been a wise man the three months I was forced to stick around with him. He was the one that I had confided in when I talked to him of revenge. At the age of eight, I wanted revenge. Revenge for…

I swallowed and my heart pounded louder against my chest.

_"Billie! Billie wait up!" My cane tapped furiously in front of me, hitting the pavement that was soaked from last night's rain. Somewhere in front of me, Billie was laughing and running faster, her sneakers splashing in a puddle. _

_"C'mon Mina! You're being slow!"_

_I pushed my legs to go faster, to catch up with my friend's laughter. "Billie!"_

_Her running gradually grew slower until, eventually, it just stopped._

_"Billie?"_

_She let out an exasperated sigh and clicked her tongue. "Gosh, Mina. What took you so long?"_

_"Sorry." I fiddled with my walking stick, trying to catch my breath._

_"Whatever. It's fine." I felt her hand on my shoulder. "I would never leave you behind. No matter how slow you are."_

_I felt around until the tip of the cane touched her shoes. I gave them a gentle tap and the two of us began walking._

_"So, what did you dad say?" She suddenly asked._

_"About what?"_

_"Coming over for supper?"_

_I suddenly remembered our plans and I ran my free hand behind my head. "He said I couldn't."_

_"What? Why not?"_

_I shrugged. "I don't know. He didn't say."_

_Billie was silent for a moment before clearing her throat. "Maybe some other time, then?"_

_"Yeah...some other time..." Which, on the whole, meant never. But telling Billie was like kicking a newborn puppy. She always took things so seriously and always blamed herself for when my father cut short our little gatherings. At eight years old, it was like she had all this responsibility that I had only heard of from Carlotta. Even thought we were the same age, Billie and I, she always made me feel like a baby. But she was my friend. We hadn't known each other long, but, in our first weeks of meeting each other, we had become thick as thieves. And my father hated it._

_Suddenly, the two of us heard some laughter and glass shattering. It was coming from our left and I could hear the sound echoing, which made me suspect that we were near an alley. _

_Billie stopped walking, as did I._

_"What is it?" I asked, keeping my head down._

_"I don't know. C'mon, let's go." She grabbed my arm and started to pull me away from the sound. I didn't know where she was leading me, but I trusted her. I had to._

_"Billie, where are we going?"_

_"Sshh." _

_I heard voices from in front of us. They were speaking a language I'd never heard before and they sounded around my father's age. _

_We started walking again, when all of a sudden a whistle sounded behind us._

_"Wouldn't you look here, Henri? Looks like two little girls have gotten lost on their way home."_

_"Just keep walking Mina," Billie whispered, practically dragging me now. "Don't pay attention to them."_

_"Hey, you little bitches, I'm talking to you!" _

_Billie screamed and I stumbled backwards as she was dragged back._

_"Let me go!" She cried. "Please!"_

_"Billie?" I swung my stick, hearing it swoosh in the air, hitting nothing. Where was she? "Billie?"_

_"Run Mina! Run!"_

_"Billie..."_

_"Run!"_

_Tears came to my eyes and I shook my head. "Billie..."_

_"Get out of here!" I heard something like the sound of breaking bone and I winced, moving backwards. _

_"Billie..."_

_I heard the sound of something coming in contact with flesh and more screams. _

_I had to help her, I had to. Billie needed me..._

_I swung the cane around more, but still nothing. _

_"Get out of here, kid." Someone said, touching my cheek. "Wouldn't want daddy to get worried, now would we?_

_The screams got louder and I ran faster. And faster. And faster._

I gripped the edges of the tub. All those years ago and it still made me feel like shit. And why shouldn't it? It had been my fault that it had happened in the first place. It was because of who I was: The daughter of fucking Kaiser.

Below, things were suddenly quiet. Everything just seemed so...silent.

What the hell was going on?

And, then, that was when I heard it: Gunshots. But, whatever was being fired, had a silencer. Oh my God. Fuck. Fuck.

I moved quickly from the tub and stumbled out onto the mat, feeling its softness under my trembling feet. I felt around until my fist took hold of the bathrobe that been left on the toilet seat for me.

Swiftly, I slipped into it and tied the sash into a tight knot.

"Vater!" I screamed. "Vater!"

More shots, more screams. Jesus Christ, please don't let him be dead. Please, God.

More shots, this time the breaking of glass accompanied them. Fuck.

"Vater!"

My body shook and, as I felt that familiar last step, my grip of the railing slipped and I immediately felt myself falling. My breath caught as I landed hard on my side on the wood paneling. Still, though, I scrambled to my feet, never minding my now aching waist.

"VATER!"

So close, the kitchen was so close…

"VATER!"

"And shepherds we shall be, for thee my Lord for thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand."

"VATER!" Please God, no…

"Our feet my swiftly carry out Thy commands. And we shall flow a river forth to Thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In Nomeni Patri Et Fili…"

"NO!"

"Spiritus Sancti."

And, suddenly, there was the sound of two shots, quick, and the voices were no more. There was a sickening thud and I was hoping and praying to God that it wasn't what I thought it was.

"VATER!"

I hauled myself through the dining room door and immediately felt myself fall over something, crashing against the marble floor on my hands and knees. I could feel my skin come in contact with something warm and sticky…

I brought my hands to my face, my breath turning ragged and my heart practically lurching within me. One inhale and I knew what I was in.

"V-Vater?" My voice sounded hoarse now, and, Jesus how I hated it. "Vater please…please answer me…"

I knew that whoever had fired the guns were still here. No one was that quiet when making their exit. Which was why I was waiting and listening; waiting for their footsteps to grow closer, listening for the sound of the safety being pulled back next to my head. I knew who was here. I knew those words. But I didn't care. I just wanted my father. I wanted to hear his voice, just to reassure me that it was okay; that he was okay.

I moved around, swiping my hands around in the blood, trying to find him, to let him know that his daughter was here.

And that was when my fingers made contact with the familiar fabric of cotton. My nostrils not only smelled the iron of the blood, but also of the musky cologne…

"No…" My voice was shaking as badly as my body. "No…"

I let my fingers trace up the silk of the tie and up to the face, where there was that stubble that had grown from last night's shave, and… Oh my God. His eyes…they were gone. His eyes…

I felt the tips of my fingers touch the pulp of what remained and, suddenly, I screamed and collapsed on my father's body. "NO! *Gott ist nicht!" My wet hair slipped around my face, veiling me in a shroud of the warmth that still remained from the bath water. *"Jesus Christus!"

He was gone, my father…

Murphy's POV

The gun still felt warm in his hand, but, for some reason, he didn't feel the need to move any more than he needed to, just to put the weapon away. He watched as Connor fiddled around in his pocket, no doubt for the pennies to finish the job. He was surprised Connor still wanted to do it. After all, they had done what they had come here to do. The plan had gone over smoothly enough, without the rope being used and there was minimal damage done to the place…

He looked down at Kaiser's body.

The son of a bitch had put up a good fight, giving Connor a shot to the arm and Murphy a busted lip.

And, for that, out of some kind of sick respect, he didn't move. He didn't want to alarm the only other living person that was in there with them:

The daughter; whose screams had filled the house as they had finished off the last of Kaiser's men. She wept now, calling for God and Christ. She cried out for her father, begging for him to answer her; for him to not really be dead. But how could she deny it all? How could she not accept the fact that the thing she was clinging to was no longer a living, breathing, human being?

Simple.

He and Connor had done the same thing when it came to Da and prison. He just simply couldn't be dead. It just didn't seem possible. And prison? Well, it was just fucking stone walls after all…

It was denial that had kept them grounded. Heaven forbid that only several months ago had they really, truly, accepted it.

But this girl, she was different. She was young, and less in control.

He watched as the opening in the front of her bloodstained bathrobe slipped open a ways, revealing a bit of cleavage. The dream came flooding back to him, but he only pushed it away. It was wrong to think of that shit. Especially now. Not like this.

They had to get her out of here. There was no way in hell she would last by herself. He pushed by Connor and suddenly grabbed the girl around her waist. He felt her body jump and it was then that she began to kick and scream. *"Mörder! Mörder! You fucking bastards! You killed him! You fucking killed him!"

"Connor, grab her feet."

"What?" Connor placed the pennies on Kaiser's eyes and folded his arms. He then went to one of Kaiser's soldiers.

"I said grab her fucking feet!" Muprhy suddenly felt her palm hit the side of his face. "Now!"

More pennies, more arm crossing. Christ, how long did it take him to actually do all this shit?

"Connor-"

"Hold the fuck up, alright! For Christ's sake…"

"Go to hell!" The girl suddenly cried. "Go to fucking hell!"

"Has a colorful vocabulary, doesn't she?" Connor muttered, moving around Kaiser's second in command and his blood.

"GO TO HELL!"

God she was fucking loud. "Shut up, for the love of God…"

Her palm came in contact with his face again and Murphy felt a kick to his knee cap.

"Fuck!" His arms tightened around her waist. "Will you just fucking stop!"

Another kick.

"Connor will you hurry the hell up?"

His brother rolled his eyes. "Never knew a woman who was too much for you, Murph."

"Shut the fuck up and grab her legs."

Connor put his gun away and did so, wrapping his fingers around her bare ankles. "Just saying, you always did have a way with the ladies…"

"I said shut the fuck up."

Connor just shook his head. His body then jerked as the girl gave a forceful kick, almost landing one to his brother's crotch. "Christ, she's got a good fight in her." He said.

"Let me go you fuckers!"

"Wow, her vocabulary is very colorful."

Murphy shot his brother a look. He could now feel the girl's wet hair seep past his shirt as they made it outside and to Rom's car.

Their little Mexican friend stomped out the cigarette he was smoking into the sidewalk. "What the hell, you guys? I thought…"

"Open the door." Murphy growled, gritting his teeth.

Romeo did a little salute and opened up the back door, letting Connor and Murphy shove the kicking, cursing mess into his car.

When the door closed, Romeo looked at them again. "Surprising, you two actually coming out of there. I mean, I never doubted you guys, you know, I mean, yeah, I never doubted…"

The girl was suddenly hanging out of the open window. *"Señor, por favor, ayúdame. Por favor. Estos dos hombres, que mataron a mi padre. Por favor, no dejes que me lleven. Por favor, por favor. Llame a la policía, sácame de aquí. Que van a matarme a mí también. Yo sé que lo harán. Ayúdame, por favor."

Jesus. She knew fucking Spanish. What were the odds? Murphy wiped a bit of the blood from his lip and looked over at Romeo. "Go on Rom, tell her. Don't just stand there like a fucking retarded spic."

Rom sent him a glare that only he of all people could muster and practically sauntered over to where the girl was trembling, drumming her fingers rhythmically along the beaten metal. *"Escucha, niña, lo siento lo de tu padre, ¿vale? Sé que debe haber sido difícil para usted, pero usted tiene que entender, no estoy aquí para ayudarle a mierda. Yo estoy con estos chicos. Soy su viaje. Te diré lo que sin embargo…"

The explanation nor the apology got very far. She suddenly started screaming into the night air. "Help me! Somebody! Help me! Please!"

"Jesus, shut her up, man!" Romeo looked over at Connor, who just looked over at Murphy with stern eyes.

"It was you're fucking idea to bring her with us. You shut her up."

Before Murphy could, Romeo whistled. "Christ, you guys. She's only wearing a fucking bathrobe. We seriously taking a chick that has on no underclothes?"

Shit. Leave it to Romeo to point out the obvious...

Murphy ran a hand over his head. He was already starting to get a migraine. Christ, he needed a cigarette. Moving Romeo out of the way, he forced his hand over the girl's mouth. *"Wir gehen nicht, dich zu verletzen, in Ordnung? Wir müssen nur Sie Ihren Mund. Schauen Sie, wie sich herausstellt, Sie in einen Bademantel sind. Wir könnten Mörder für Sie sein, aber wir sind nicht herzlos. Ich brauche dich, mir zu sagen, wo Ihr Zimmer ist und welche Kleidung soll ich bekommen. Kannst du das?" Shockingly, he hadn't cussed throughout that whole thing, even though it had been so fucking tempting. This was him, trying to be a gentleman.

*"Sie sprechen Englisch ziemlich gut?" Wow. They must be on some kind of mutual agreement.

*"Ja."

"Good. Then listen closely: Fuck. You."

Okay, then again, maybe not. "Alright. The Fuck You t-shirt. Anything else?"

He watched her lips purse tightly and her eyes narrow. "Go fuck yourself."

"Go jeans and Fuck Yourself bras. You going to tell me where your bedroom is, now?"

Her hands formed into fists and, for a moment, Murphy thought she was going to hit him. What that would feel like. To get hit by a fucking German broad. That would definitely make his day.

But, still, all she did was purse her lips even tighter and slump into the backseat, looking down at the floorboard. "Top floor, second door on your right."

By the time they were on the road, Romeo driving, Murphy in the passenger, and Connor in the back with Kaiser's daughter, the early morning traffic was starting up, causing them to get caught in rush hour. "Fucking Christ, man." Romeo hit the steering wheel with his palm, making the frame of the vehicle shake. "Can you crackers beep your horns any louder?"

"Oh, don't worry about it Rom. Just because the people in your colorful nation didn't honk in traffic doesn't mean you have to get your fucking panties in a wad." Connor grinned from his spot in the back and clapped Romeo on the shoulder.

Murphy gave a light laugh, but kept his eyes on the girl. She hadn't moved the entire ride, nor had she looked away from the flooring of the car. The icy blue of her eyes had never once darted. But, then again, she was blind. What reason would she have?

His fingers curled around the walking stick he had found on her bed, the same one he had used to knock out the screaming Cuban maid on his way out who had been threatening to call the police.

They went back to silence, the three of them, like they usually did when Romeo was going through what he called his "periods of adjustment." But, this time, though, it was different. It was the same kind of silence that Connor and himself went through, only much thicker and harder to get past. He was thankful that Rom hadn't gone through what he and Connor had. The Neanderthals in that prison would have beaten the fucking shit out of him from the state he had been in.

Romeo flicked on his left turning signal as they made it to the front of the line and he sped to quickly avoid the cars that were ready to pull out, sending them down the familiar path to the apartment.

They rode on for another few minutes until, finally, the blind girl spoke, her voice soft and shaky. "I could've killed you." She whispered. "I could've."

"With what?" Connor muttered, looking over at her. "You're fucking walking stick?"

She didn't say anything, but instead pressed her head against the glass of the window. Her eyes closed.

Yeah, Murphy thought, this was definitely going to be a long-ass day.

TRANSLATIONS:

*Pervert-German

**God, no- German

***Jesus Christ-German

****Murderers-German

*****Sir, please help me. Please. These two men, they killed my father. Please don't let them take me. Please, please. Call the police, get me out of here. They're going to kill me too. I know they will. Help me, please.- Spanish

******Listen, girl, I'm sorry about your dad, alright? I know it must've been hard for you, but you have to understand, I'm not here to fucking help you. I'm with these guys. I'm their ride. Tell you what though…-Spanish

*******We're not going to hurt you, alright? We just need you to shut your mouth. Look, as it turns out, you're in a bathrobe. We might be murderers to you, but we're not heartless. I need you to tell me where your room is and what clothes you want me to get. Can you do that?-German

********Can you speak English pretty good?-German

*********Yeah.- German


	4. Chapter 4

Never before in my life had I felt so alone. I was in a place that I didn't know, surrounded by three men I felt were going to do some kind of harm to me. I'd heard about the Saints, yeah, about how they were put in prison. But, now, it looks like they were out. And they had kidnapped me.

After killing my father.

I wrapped my arms around my legs, and brought them up close to me. I knew I was in the corner of a small room, it was that obvious. It smelled of mildew, cigarette smoke, and cheap alcohol. I buried my face in my knees. I was still in my damn bathrobe. I refused to change out of it, considering there was absolutely no way in hell I was getting into some clothes while two Irish guys and one Mexican was hanging around.

"You think she'll ever talk?" One of the Irish guys asked.

"You think you can ever shut your mouth?"

They had been bickering for the past five minutes. It was like neither of them could shut up.

"You know," I muttered into the cotton of my robe, "just because I'm blind doesn't mean I'm deaf, too."

"Yeah, Connor." The other Irish guy said. "Why don't you ask her instead of me like I'm a fucking psychic?"

I let out a sigh into my bathrobe. "Do you guys have a bathroom in this shit-hole? I need to pee." Oldest excuse in the book, but, well, what could you do?

"Yeah, yeah we do." The Connor guy replied. I heard him snap his fingers. "Rom, help her."

"Why me, man?"

"Because, all you've done is sit on your ass ever since we got back." Connor said. "Now, get up and help her."

I heard footsteps and a hand touch my shoulder. Instinctively, I would have shoved his hand away and would have strolled over to the bathroom myself. Instead, I felt it better to go along with whatever these guys wanted and act like a sweet and innocent blind girl with a liability.

When I was safe in the so-called bathroom, I practically slammed the door behind me and fumbled around until I found the lock and twisted it until I heard the click. Thank God.

I spread my fingers and held out my hands in front of me until they landed on the toilet. I sat down and leaned back. God help me.

I lifted my hands up to my face. I could smell the iron, still; I could feel it crusted on my fingers and my palms. I could feel it crumbling into dust on my face. And all of it was my father's blood, the last remaining thing I had of him.

I got up and felt my way to the sink. When I did, I turned one of the knobs next to the faucet. I heard a loud gurgling sound come from underneath and then the water spurted out like it did from a hose. I plunged my hands underneath the stream and scrubbed at them until my skin smarted. I was sure that if I could see, they would be raw. Already, I could feel the water growing hot. Just like the water that I was sure was still in the tub back at the house.

I closed my eyes and splashed water at my face, feeling the droplets skid down my neck and into the collar of the robe. With each spatter onto my face, I felt like I was erasing something of me; like the old me was long gone and had been killed with her father.

I stopped and turned off the faucet.

I should've been. I should've been killed.

But, instead, they had let me live. And now, now I had nothing except for my name.

I could still kill them if I wanted to, that was for sure. The Mexican would be the first one, since he was an easier target, but the two Irish guys…

I might have to plan this out for a bit.

I heard voices from the other side of the door and I listened in.

Connor was talking, as was his brother.

"What do you think we should do with her?"

"Hell if I know." The other guy was smoking. I heard him take in a long drag and then exhale. "All I know is, is that she needs someone to watch out for her. It's obvious that she can't take care of herself."

I almost snorted at that. If only they knew who in the hell I was. Maybe then they would practically be shoving me out the door right now, closing it right in my face.

"Yeah, that is true." Connor muttered. I heard him walking around now and sighing. "But, honestly, Murphy, what were you thinking? We could've just left her there. Sooner of later, the police would've found her."

"And then what, Connor?" Murphy asked, walking as well. "What would've happened to her then?"

"What the fuck is it to you what happens to her? You don't even know who in the hell she is!"

"All I know is that she is someone whose father we just killed."

"Look, don't you start getting a fucking bleeding heart, brother. Not once did you ever care about the families of those sons-of-bitches that we murdered. Why now?"

Murphy didn't say anything. Which made me all the more curious to know why in the world he even cared enough to take me out of my home instead of letting the police find me.

"You like her." Connor didn't say it as if it were a question, just a simple known fact.

"Fuck, Connor, I didn't say that…"

"No, but that's why we have a blind girl sitting in our fucking bathroom." Connor hissed.

"I don't like her, Connor. I just did something that I'm sure Da would've wanted us to do. You know he would."

Connor was silent for a moment, while I heard Murphy take another draw of his cigarette. Finally, he spoke. "You're right. He would've."

Murphy began to walk away before I heard Connor slap his hand on his shoulder.

"But you don't like her?"

"No."

Well, the feeling's mutual buddy, I thought. I leaned back up and unlocked the door. When I walked out, I was hit with the smell of tobacco and I coughed.

"Oh, sorry." I felt a rush of air as the smoke was wiped away by what I was sure was a hand.

I didn't say anything in response to this, but, instead, held my hands out a little in front of me until I found my corner and sat there once again. It was better to not do my echolocation trick, that was for sure.

"So," the Murphy guy began, "are you hungry?"

I still didn't say anything. How long did it take these guys to figure out I was pissed off and did not want to be here?

Still, the Murphy guy was still trying to be hospitable. And here I thought he didn't like me. "Um I don't know what we have, but I'm sure we can get you something."

Instead of responding, I buried my face back into my knees.

"Stubborn, isn't she?" Connor whispered. I heard him walking around until he just stopped. "Look, lady, we can't help you if you don't talk to us."

"Wie ist dein Name, Fräulein?" Murphy asked.

I sat up. Whether I was glaring or not, I wasn't for sure, but I was pissed, so I probably was. "Warum zum Teufel sollte ich Ihnen sagen, was?" I was still digesting the fact that these guys knew German. What else they knew wouldn't really surprise me.

"Weil, wenn Sie dies nicht tun, was gut sind Sie für uns?"

He had a good point. Of course, all captors do.

"Was wollen Sie wissen?"

"Für Vorspeisen, wie etwa Ihr Name?"

I smiled and leaned into the wall. It felt cool against my back. "Mina Kaiser, Murphy. My name is Mina Kaiser."

"You're pretty sharp for a blind girl." He said.

"I'm a whole lot sharper than you think I am."

I could practically hear the smile in his voice. "I bet you are." He exhaled and I heard him put out the cigarette. "Now, what can you tell us about your father?"

"Let me get this straight," I said. "You kidnapped me, after you killed the only living relative I had, and you want me to start talking about him like it's no big fucking deal?"

"Told you this was a bad idea." Connor muttered.

"Yeah, well I guess it's my turn. You've had your fair share of those already."

"Just shut up and get on with whatever you were fucking thinking of doing. Jesus Christ." I heard Connor collapse on something and I stirred a little. He sounded closer than he had before.

Murphy moved around a little, wherever he was at, and sighed. "Mina, we just want to know where your father got his information. We know he didn't just come up with ideas all by himself. He had to have some kind of help."

He did, I thought. But I didn't say it out loud. Instead: "You didn't know my father. He was a brilliant man."

"You're right, we didn't." Connor said. "Just tell use what we need to know."

"Will you let me go?" I asked.

"That depends," Murphy answered, "On exactly what you tell us."

I sighed and twirled the bathrobe string around my finger. "Fine. I will. But, first, I want to ask you guys something."

"What?"

"What would you guys say if I told you I could kill all three of you right now?"

They went silent. Every single one of them. Not one word came from them and, then, there was this sound that just really made my day. The cock of a gun, exactly where the Romeo guy was standing. Typical. How did I know that he would be the first one to snap? Then again, I had really expected the Murphy guy to, he seemed like the type.

I got up, with a smile on my face, and made my way effortlessly over to the Mexican. Without even thinking, I had the gun out of his hands and aimed at his head in two seconds flat.

"Holy shit man!" He yelled. " Holy fucking shit!"

I heard to more cocks of guns. "Put the gun down! Now!" Connor said. "I mean it!"

"Or what?" I snapped. "You gonna shoot me?"

"It's possible."

I just shook my head. "The safety's off, right?"

Romeo's voice was shaking a bit. My aim must be just right. "Y-yeah. So?"

"You do realize that killing you is going to be easy, right? Even though your fucking friends think they're being all bad-ass by thinking they're going to shoot me, I'm going to be the one winning in the end." And I was not lying. It could be done.

"Fuck man!" The Mexican said. "Fuck!"

"Tell you what," I said. "I'm not going to shoot you."

I heard him let out a small sigh of relief.

"Instead…" I don't know why I did it, because, honestly, it could've gotten someone hurt (what did I care?) and it could've gotten us caught (again, what did I care?), but I just shot somewhere in the room.

I realized that, when it hit plaster and I heard a bit of the wall shatter, I'd completely screwed up.

"Fuck." Connor whispered.

"Damn." I muttered. "I missed."

I threw the gun back at Romeo. "Thanks for that." I walked back over to my corner and sat down, letting out a sigh. "Now, if you guys don't mind, I would like to just sleep, considering I haven't done that in almost twenty-four hours."

I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes, wishing that I had at least hit one of them.


End file.
